I can't even bring myself to be annoyed by Lena Dunham's current indie-princess oversaturation because Tiny Furniture was just so damn good. There's not much to say about Dunham's Girls that wasn't already covered over here, because my two main feelings are "Yay!" and "PLEEEEEEASE tell me that Brian Williams, David Mamet, and that drummer from that one band have a secret Hollywood oligarchical cabal!!!"

The Guardian uses Dunham as a jumping-off point for an essay about the rise of the girl-slacker, which seems a little no-duh (women can eat frozen pizza in basements too!), but makes some interesting points:

In Tiny Furniture Dunham's onscreen unmade up face, or slightly dimply thighs, shouldn't seem extraordinary, but they do: they're a reminder that girl slackerdom can, in fact, take on a radical quality. The New York Times film critic Manohla Dargis wrote: "It is Ms Dunham's refusal to put on a pretty show, to doll herself up, that is the movie's boldest stroke" and Dunham is smart enough to know this. She has made it clear that "in Tiny Furniture I look sloppier and more slovenly than I do in real life. I'm doing the full-on thing. I made a choice there."